THE MAIDEN of ORLEANS Die Jungfrau Von Orleans FRIEDRICH SCHILLER Schiller Wrote His Publisher That This Play, Subtitled a Roman
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THE MAIDEN OF ORLEANS Die Jungfrau von Orleans FRIEDRICH SCHILLER Schiller wrote his publisher that this play, subtitled A Romantic Tragedy, “came from the heart and should appeal to the heart.” Apparently he felt that feeling and intuition should dominate reason and historical veracity; Schiller consciously departed from the facts about Joan, not only as we know them now, but as he knew them, in order to emphasize the dramatically effective aspects of her struggle with her conscience. The playwright’s imagination has created a mystic world of miraculous and supernatural occurrence which he feels is implicit in the original story. Schiller’s deviations were not just fanciful; he deliberately exalted Joan in order to repudiate the rationalistic image created by Voltaire in his LA Times Pucelle d’Orleans, which Schiller felt reduced Joan below the commonplace. The caricature by Voltaire was so notorious that the duke of Weimar opposed the production of Schiller’s play, fearing that the audience would not take it seriously. Schiller persisted elsewhere and succeeded with the premiere at Leipzig in 1801. The Jungfrau became, and for a long time remained, the most popular stage character for German audiences. John T. Krumpelmann has followed in his translation the verse forms of the original German. DRAMATIC PERSONAE CHARLES THE SEVENTH, King of France TALBOT, an English General QUEEN ISABEAU, his Mother LIONEL and FASTOLF, English Officers AGNES SOREL, his Beloved MONTGOMERY, a Welshman PHILIP, THE GOOD, Duke of Burgundy COUNCILMEN OF ORLEANS COUNT DUNOIS, Bastard of Orleans AN ENGLISH HERALD LA HIRE and DU CHATEL, Royal Officers THIBAUT D’ARC, a wealthy Countryman ARCHBISHOP OF RHEIMS MARGOT, LOUISON, JOHANNA, his CHATILLON, a Burgundian Knight Daughters RAOUL, a Knight of Lorraine BERTRAND, another Countryman ETIENNE, CLAUDE MARIE, and THE APPARITION OF A BLACK RAIMOND, their Suitors KNIGHT CHARCOAL-BURNER, HIS WIFE AND SON SOLDIERS AND PEOPLE. Royal Servants-of-the Crown, Bishops, Monks, Marshals, Magistrates, Courtiers and other mute persons in the train of the Coronation procession. PROLOGUE A rural region. Right front, an image of a saint in a shrine; to the left a tall oak. SCENE I Thibaut D’Arc. His three daughters. Three young shepherds, their suitors. THIBAUT. Yea, my dear neighboirs! Still today we are True Frenchmen; still, free citizens and masters Of this old sod, which once our fathers plowed. Who knows who will rule over us tomorrow? For everywhere the Englishman unfurls His triumph-covered banner, while his steeds Are trampling down the blooming fields of France. Already Paris has proclaimed him victor, And with the ancient crown of Dagobert1 Adorns the scion of a foreign stem. The offspring of our native kings must wander Through his own realm in flight and dispossessed. Against him in the hostile army fights His closest cousin and his foremost peer; Yea, his own raven-mother leads them on. Around burn villages and towns. And near And nearer rolls the smoke of devastation Into the vales, which still repose in peace. And so, dear neighbors, I’ve resolved ‘fore God, Since I today yet have it in my power, To have my daughters cared for; for a woman, Amid the woes of war, needs a protector; And true love helps to lighten every burden. (to the first shepherd) Come here, Etienne! You woo my daughter Margot. Our fields are bound together like good neighbors. Your loving hearts are well attuned -- that yields A happy wedlock! (to the second) Claude Marie! You mum? And my Louison casts her glances earthward? Shall I divorce two hearts that found each other, Because you have not troves to offer me? Who now has treasures? House and barns alike Are both the prey of nearby foe and fire. The loyal heart of the good spouse alone Is storm-fast shelter in such times as these. LOUISON. My father! CLAUDE MARIE. My dear Louison! LOUISON. (embracing Johanna). Dearest sister! THIBAUT. I’ll give each daughter thirty acres land, And stall and house and then a heard. For God Blessed me and so may he bless also you. MARGOT (embrassing Johanna) O gladden father! Follow our example! So let this day conclude three happy unions! THIBAUT. Go! Make your plans! Tomorrow is the wedding. I want the town-folk all to join the feast (The two couples leave the stage arm in arm.) SCENE II Thibaut, Ramond, Johanna. THIBAUT. Jeanette,2 thy sisters now are going to marry. I see them happy; they make glad my age. But thou, my youngest, giv’st me grief and pain. RAIMOND. What troubles you? Why do you scold your daughter? THIBAUT. This honest lad, with whom no one here In all the village can compare, the choicest, He has to thee directed his affections, And woos for thee, already the third harvest, With quiet wish and heartfelt perseverance; But thou dost, cold and resolute, reject him. And yet no one of all the other shepherds Can win from thee one friendly little smile. I see thee in full splendor of thy youth; Thy Spring has come; it is the time for hoping; Unfolded is the blossom of thy body; But yet in vain I tarry that the flower Of tender love shall break from out the bud And joyous ripen into golden fruit. Oh that ne’er pleases me and indicates Some grave perversion in the ways of nature! That heart doth please me not, that, stern and cold, Constricts itself in years meant for emotio. RAIMOND. Let’s drop it, father Arc! Let her alone! The love of my most excellent Johanna Is, yea, a noble, tender fruit of Heaven. And what is precious ripens still and slowly! Now she still loves to dwell among the mountains And from the care-free heath she fears indeed To come down here beneath the lowly roof Of mortals, where restraining sorrows dwell. I often look from this deep dale at her In still amazement, when, on lofty lea, Amid her herd she stands alone, erect, With noble stature, and her earnest gaze Sends down upon the lands of Earth. Whe then to me portends a higher something, And oft methinks she stems from other ages THIBAUT. It is just that this is not to my liking! She flees the joyous company of her sisters, Seeks out the desert mountains, and deserts Her nightly couch before the cock’s clear call; And in the dread-filled hour, when mere man So gladly joins with trusted fellow-men, She steals, e’en like the bird of hermit-habits, Off to the grayish, sombre spirit-realm Of night, advances to the cross- roads, and Holds secret converse with the mountain air. Wherefore does she always select this spot And drive her herd on straightway hitherward? I see her brooding there entire hours As underneath the Druid tree she sits, Which happy creatures all are wont to flee. For there it is uncanny. An evil being Has had itw dwelling place beneath that tree Already since the gray, old, Heathen times. The ancients in the village tell each other About this tree most shocking, spooky tidings; Mysterious sounds of most peculiar voices One oft discerns from out its gloomy branches. E’en I, myself, when once in deepening twilight My way was leading me past this same tree, Have seen a ghostlike woman sitting there. She slowly stretched, out from the wide- spread folds Of her attire, a withered hand to me, As if she meant to beckon, but I sped On by, commending unto God my soul. RAIMOND (pointing to the image of the saint in the shrine.) The blessed nearness of this grace-rich image, Which here diffuses Heaven’s peace around it, Not Satan’s works, attracts your daughter here. THIBAUT. Oh no! No, not in vain it shows itself To me in dreams and anxious apparitions. It’s now three times, I have beheld her sitting At Rheims upon the throne of our royal monarchs, A sparkling diadem of seven stars Upon her head, the sceptre in her hand, From which sprang forth three lilies, totally white;3 And I, her fther, and both her sisters too, And all the princes, counts and arch-bishops, The very king himself bowed down before her. How comes such radiance to my humble shelter? Oh, that betokens a most grievous fall! Symbolically this warning-dream presents To me the idle strivings of her heart. She is ashamed of her own lowliness, Since God adorned her body with rich beauty And blessed her too with high and wonderous talents Above all shepherd-maidens of this vale. She nurses sinful pride within her heart, And pride it is through which the angels fell, Through which the spirit of hell takes hold of man. RAIMOND. Who fosters a more virtuous, humble mind This this your pious daughter? Is’t not she Who serves her older sisters joyfully! She is most highly gifted of them all, But yet you see her as a lowly maid Perform the hardest tasks in still obedience, And through her hand in a most wonderous way Your herds and likewise too your crops are thriving. Around whatever deed she does pours forth Good fortune passing bound and comprehension. THIBAUT. Indeed, incomprehensible good luck! -- Peculiar fear comes o’er me at this blessing! No more of this! I cease. I hold my peace. Shall I accuse my own beloved child? I can do naught but warn her, pray for her! Yet I must warn: O flee this dreadful tree, Remain not there alone and dig no roots At midnight, and prepare there no libations, And write not any symbolds in the sand -- The spirits’ realm is easy to tear open.